Butterflies

They rose from amongst the yellowing leaves

And the fallen twigs of yesterday’s showers

They fed on despoiled flower petals

That lay weeping on the muddied ground.

They borrowed the gold from the specks of dust

That float about in the evening sun rays

Lightning gave them life and wind

Gave them flight to set sail

On their fragile, transparent wings

The butterflies of yesterday floated gay

Silently rambunctious, quietly wild

Their wings flared up woodfire stoves

And the vibrant turmeric of the kitchen jars

They neither spoke nor had a voice

Only the flutter of their wings and the soft thump of their tiny little feet

On the beaming crown of an expectant flower

Performed their chores dutifully.

All in a day’s work for them

And they quietly fade away in some dull, dark corner of the earth

After pollination.